by Ronie Kendig
Talon twisted around to look at her as if he understood. As if to say he wasn’t giving up so she shouldn’t either.
Aspen buried her face in his shoulder and gave him a squeeze. “Somehow, we’ll get answers.”
Oh God, why…? She felt teased, taunted by God. She’d prayed, believed. She’d never stretched her faith as far as she had over the last year, refusing to believe rumors of Austin’s death. Just when she’d surrendered and released the idea of finding him, here came this guy who seemed to have the answers.
No, not just answers, but the guts to do something about what he believed—that he’d seen Austin somewhere in Africa. She’d become convinced once again that there was a chance to find out the truth. To resolve this once and for all. For the last two years since the incident, she’d put her life on hold.
Then Markoski vanishes. Just like Austin.
Talon came up off his haunches, his gaze to the north.
Aspen glanced in that direction. A second later, Trinity bounded around the corner, trailed by Heath. Aspen stood and brushed off her backside.
“Hey.” Heath came up, his expression tight. “Wanna come up to the house?” The terse way he said that drew her up short.
“Something wrong?”
He hesitated then glanced back. “Just come on up.”
Back up at the house, she found Timbrel Hogan there with her infamous Hound of Hell, Beowulf. Beside her at the glass table sat Khaterah, Jibril’s beautiful veterinarian sister, who talked with Jibril. A tray of finger sandwiches sat on the table.
Still catching her breath, Aspen dropped into a chair. “What’s going on?”
“Well,” Timbrel said, “we got tired of waiting for your troublemaker to show back up.”
“My troublemaker?”
“Yeah.” Timbrel adjusted the ball cap that shaded her brown eyes. “You know, Mister SexyKillerBlueEyes.”
Aspen laughed. “So because he has ‘killer blue eyes,’ he’s trouble?”
“One hundred percent.” Timbrel reached for a sandwich and tossed it to Beowulf.
“Hey!” Khat objected.
Timbrel ignored her. “That and the way he took you down. I wouldn’t trust a guy who’d do that.”
Bristling at the way Timbrel was practically telling her what to think about Dane, Aspen shrugged. “I like that he didn’t pamper me.”
“Pamper is one thing. Pummel is another.”
“Hogan.” Heath planted his hands on the table as he looked at everyone. “I made some calls today.”
Silence dropped like a missile, flattening moods and conversations.
“And?” Jibril sipped his tea.
“I would’ve turned this over to Darci, but she’s out of the country right now. So I put in a call to General Burnett.”
Aspen eased forward. “Wait…” Her mind ricocheted over this setup and who he referred to. “You mean the general from Afghanistan—Darci’s boss?”
“Former. He’s a family friend of hers, so I have his home number.”
“Why—I mean, why’d you call him?” Aspen tried to swallow past the lump in her throat. What wasn’t he telling her? “What did you find out?”
“Nothing. Burnett, of course, said he couldn’t tell me anything if he did find something on the guy, but he said he’d look into it.”
Aspen let out a shaky breath. “Oh.” She glanced around the table. “I thought you were going to tell me something bad.”
“If this guy shows back up, I want to know he’s legit. Nobody’s going anywhere with him unless he’s been fully vetted.”
“Wouldn’t that be Khat’s job?” Timbrel snickered.
Heath stretched his jaw, clearly working to temper his frustration. “Look, something about this isn’t sitting right. He went on national television, then came here and talked a good number, then vanishes. I want this guy or his head.”
Aspen sat a little straighter. “I really appreciate your protective nature, Heath.” Her courage rose to the surface. “But this isn’t really your decision. If he turns up again, going with him, searching for my brother is my decision.”
“Whoa, chickie.” Timbrel plucked off her hat, brown hair tumbling free. “It’s your decision, but we’re a team. A family, ya know? You’re not alone, and this decision is a big one.”
“She is right,” Khat said. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
“But you aren’t going to go, Khaterah, if this happens.” Aspen turned to Heath. “Neither are you—wedding in just over a week, remember?”
Timbrel propped her feet on the table and slumped back. “Well, you don’t have an excuse to shove me off the cliff of friendship, so don’t even try. If this thing happens, I’m stuck like glue to you.”
“Why?” The question wasn’t meant to be confrontational, but Aspen had never seen Timbrel show that much interest in their affairs. “Why do you care so much?”
“Because.” Timbrel narrowed her brown eyes. “I’m not letting him get the best of you.”
“Get the best of me?” She tried to keep her words from pitching, but with the heat creeping into her face, it was a lost cause. “I am former Air Force—with the JAG. I am twenty-eight years old and perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“Oh, don’t I know it,” Timbrel said. “But two girls who can kick butt are better than one. And if this guy shows me it’s necessary, I will take him down. Blue eyes or not.”
Austin, Texas
“You grounded me!”
“You went dark. I had no guarantees you weren’t dead or under coercion.” A laugh erupted. “I still don’t.”
“I gave you the nonduress code.”
“Mm. So you did.”
Cardinal bit down on the curse that lingered at the back of his throat. This wasn’t about Burnett thinking he’d been captured. This was about the general exerting his influence. About the general putting Cardinal’s wings to the flame. Or trying to clip them and force him to be his own personal carrier pigeon.
He turned and strode to the window overlooking downtown Austin. Hand on the cold pane of glass, he steadied himself—memories, virulent and agitated, coiled around his mind. Shoved him back. Away from the glass. Away from the drop. Away from the memory.
He fisted a hand, ready to drive it through anything painful. Being forced to do something was one thing. Being trapped was another. He’d been shut down once before. Ten years ago. But it’d been too late by then. Cardinal had already escaped.
“You know I can get around this.” He’d become good at going off-grid when he needed to. Burnett knew it, too.
“You’re right, I do.” Creaking seeped through the line as the general let out a soft groan of relief. “Which makes me wonder why you haven’t.”
Cardinal looked away. From what, he didn’t know. The city held no threat. The phone neither.
“What are you running from?”
The truth. The past. The angel.
“I think you know deep inside, you’re supposed to help this girl. I think the fact that you had a hand in her brother’s disappearance makes you feel like you owe her something.”
My life.
“But…” A slurping sound tickled the earpiece. Burnett burped. “’Scuse me.” A breathy grunt emitted as he caught his breath. “There’s more to this. You’re antsy. Jittery. Do I need to know something?”
Cardinal killed the line. Thudded his forehead against the wall. He turned back to the hotel room and sighed. He slumped on the bed and stared back out over the city. Then the sky. Clear blue sky with a few streaks of clouds. But mostly sun. Lots of sun. Texas heat that had surely fried his brain. Then why did it feel cold and cruel, like winter?
When he’d left Aspen at the ranch, he’d done nothing but drive—that is, after he’d disabled the GPS. No need for unnecessary monitoring by good ol’ Uncle Sam. Down to the Gulf. Back up. All day spent trying to unwind his mind and body. His muscles ached.
His heart ached more.
<
br /> At a moment like this in the movies, the hero would tug out a photograph, stare at it longingly, stuff it back in his pocket, then move on forcefully.
He didn’t have a photograph. Refused to allow himself mementos. Anything that could connect him to the past. Anything that could be held against him or used to cripple him. Nobody knew about those things. Nobody would have that much power over him. Ever.
Besides, she’d fallen off the map five years ago.
Bent forward, he laced his fingers and rested his forehead on his knuckles. Going forward with this mission…it felt like the complete undoing of everything he’d worked for. But that would mean abandoning the one man he’d mentored. Trained.
Cardinal had failed him. And sitting here not tracking him down wasted time.
But doing this, with Aspen—
“God…” The prayer died on his tongue. Cardinal closed his eyes, focused. Yearned for some indication, some sign of what to do.
In the distance, a sound resonated through Austin.
Pulled to his feet at the somber sound of bells, Cardinal grabbed his room key and tucked it into his pocket with the phone. Out on the street, he headed toward the capitol. Light peeked at him between the buildings. Then the shadows lengthened. On Lavaca Street, he hesitated before the prestigious First Methodist Church building. Striking with its columns and pale plaster, it certainly bespoke the austere setting. Pretty. Beautiful even, but…no church bells.
Cardinal continued down the street and banked left onto 11th. As he walked the length of the lawn that stretched before the great building of the Lone Star state’s seat of power, he admired the structure. The lines, the dome, the architecture. So dominating. Spoke of power. Prestige.
Power corrupts.
He’d seen the fruit of that as a boy. In his father. His father’s friends. Even missionaries in country. Everyone wanted power. Those once thought to be nice, kind people had climbed the backs of friends to get to the top.
Cardinal strolled to the corner and looked up and down San Jacinto Boulevard. He crossed the street then glanced right. Block letters adorning a white limestone building drew him down San Jacinto. The darkness in his soul shifted as he crossed onto 10th and strolled along the white stone building to the front steps.
He peered up. Smiled. Bell tower.
As if some force gripped him by the shirt, compelling him into the sanctuary, Cardinal climbed the steps. Inside, he paused. Breath stolen, he waited for the warmth to flood him. He couldn’t explain it. Just…knew things were different inside a church.
The great stained supports that arced over the cathedral reminded him of a ship’s bow. The apse bore striking columns that looked like marble, stretching up into the cobalt ceiling, dotted with gold stars. And there in the center hung a stained-glass depiction of Mary. No doubt the one they’d named the cathedral after. And below it, on His cross hung her Son.
Jesus.
Cardinal slipped between two pews. Hand on the row in front, he eased himself onto the gold cushion, his gaze fastened to the altar. The stained-glass windows that gleamed overhead and along the walls bathed him in a warm embrace and a strange glowing wonder.
Here. Here he could focus. Could sort out the insanity that had threatened him.
He sat, thought, silently talked—to whom, he didn’t know…He lowered his head, shutting out the chaos. The forces vying for his allegiance. His obedience.
As he had every time before, he whispered, “God, if you’re there…help me.” Desperate. Sloppy. But it was all he had. If he said more, he’d berate himself for talking to someone invisible. Intangible. Unprovable. A god for the weak minded.
That’s what his father had said of his mother’s faith. One of the many kinder things he’d said of her and her Christianity.
The comforting rays of sunlight through the stained glass that lined both walls faded and gave way to low-lit sconces. Though his inner self had quieted, he had no answers. For anything. So he stayed. Stared at the likeness of the crucified Christ.
“He was a madman who claimed to be God! Of course they killed him!”
Mary hovering over her son, ethereal and gentle with blue eyes and the Anglo appearance. He’d always smirked at that.
“She was a whore! She got pregnant and lied to cover it up.”
Cardinal hung his head with a dangerous thought lodged in his mind. No, Father. That was what you did to my mother.
Crack! A scream knifed his soul. He clenched his eyes. Blood. She’d bled so much…
A noise…repetitive…
Cardinal peered up at the altar, attention trained on the click-click on the stone floor. What…it sounded like…dog’s nails. Here? In a church?
A shape took form at the end of the pew. A feminine form. He turned his head, coming to his feet. Something swirled in his gut as he looked into pure blue eyes. Hair a halo of white. Just like Saint Mary in the stained glass. Or an angel. The thought pinged through him. Amadore had called her that, and here she stood in this church just like one.
She smiled then looked down the aisle toward the altar. Taking it all in.
His heart beat a little heavier. And faster. He wanted to ask how she’d found him. Here, of all places. He shouldn’t ask. It showed weakness. Showed he hadn’t been smart enough with his moves. “How did you find me?”
“Heath knows a general who tracked you down. Heath is engaged to a good friend of the general—actually, one of his former employees.”
He looked down and shook his head. Burnett. The general had sold him out?
“He said you liked churches.” Again, she glanced at the altar. “Cathedrals, in particular.”
It wasn’t forgivable that the general ratted him out, no matter how vague the tip he’d given. The video camera in his head played out a scene where he stormed out of St. Mary’s, shouting into his phone about being sold out. Of him walking away from this.
But that’s why Burnett sent her here. Gave her enough information to find him—so she could corner him. So those blue eyes would peel back the years of hardness. To whittle down what little he had left of his identity. To break him.
Force him to face what he didn’t want to face: That despite his fears, despite his rigid determination not to, Cardinal knew he had to take this gig. He had to help Aspen find her brother.
Since he already knew the answer, maybe the reason he’d come to church was to toss it back in God’s face.
Cardinal focused on the structure of reverence and solace, not on the tumult roiling through him. “It’s a lost art, churches like this.” His gaze traipsed the bowlike supports, the stained-glass panels standing like sentries around them…and collided with those blue eyes.
“It’s a good place to be.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, as if talking might offend the heavenlies.
And yet her words felt like just the beginning. He wanted to know what followed. “When…?”
Aspen shrugged and shook her head. “Always.” Perspiration made her face glow. The blush in her cheeks wasn’t because of him, so he knew she’d been walking for a while. Searching churches. Searching for him. Why did that do strange things to his mind, the thought of her looking for him? Desperation had him culling the possibilities.
Back on track, Cardinal. He pointed to the Lab hunkering at her side. “He probably shouldn’t be in here.”
“He’s a working dog, so technically they can’t throw him out. Besides, I wouldn’t have found you if it weren’t for Talon.” She beamed. “About two blocks over he got a hit. Nose to the ground, he was hauling in scents and moving.” She giggled. “It was amazing. I haven’t seen him do that…well, ever!”
Startled, he looked at the dog and tried to school his expression.
“I mean, I know you probably saw him doing it with Austin day in and out, but this was a first for me. Exhilarating.” She lifted a red Kong ball from her pocket. “I owe him some playtime now.”
“Then maybe he’s ready.” Oh man, he co
uldn’t believe he was doing this. It was wrong. He’d slip down that slippery slope and there’d be nothing to anchor him. Cardinal started toward the back of the church, the thoughts pushing him out the door.
Aspen’s lips parted, her mouth hanging slightly open. Expectancy seemed to hold her captive. “For?”
“A little adventure.” He wanted to return the smile that twinkled in her eyes, but he didn’t dare. “Eastern Africa.” He owed this to his protégé. Owed it to Aspen.
She fell into step with him, Talon trotting alongside. “Then, you’ll go?”
Understanding what it meant that she’d come looking for him, that she’d tracked him…that if she found out what happened in Djibouti, she’d never speak to him again, Cardinal knew he had to win her now or she’d be lost forever.
And if that happened, Austin Courtland was as good as dead.
UNDISCIPLINED
Brno, Czech Republic
Age: 14 Years, 3 Months
Nikol punched to his feet. Patting Petr’s shoulder, Nikol stuffed the money into his hand. “I must go.”
The girl took a tentative step forward, her hand raised. “Okamžik, prosím.”
He didn’t have one moment, not even for her. Nikol’s feet grew leaden at the soft voice. Move, he had to move or he would be caught. Heat and weight pressed against his chest, but he strode to the trees, toward anonymity.
A man stormed from a home—no, not a home. The home. The one she lived in.
“Who are you?” She rushed across the small yard. “Why do you bring the gifts?”
Hands stuffed in his pockets, Nikol tucked his head and hurried, his gaze on the trees.
“Please,” she pleaded.
She couldn’t know. Absolutely forbidden. Leaves crunched beneath his feet.
“Thank you.” The shouted gratefulness carried past the crunch of the leaves beneath his feet and the rustle of branches overhead and wrapped around his heart.
